


A Little More Bite, A Little Less Bark

by windsorblue



Category: Ocean's Eleven (2001)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-04-02
Updated: 2007-04-02
Packaged: 2017-10-14 04:17:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/145296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/windsorblue/pseuds/windsorblue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>with many, many thanks to <a href="http://thejennabides.livejournal.com/profile"><img/></a><a href="http://thejennabides.livejournal.com/"><b>thejennabides</b></a> for beta and muse work.  Title is from the song "A Little Less Conversation", by Elvis Presley.</p>
    </blockquote>





	A Little More Bite, A Little Less Bark

**Author's Note:**

> with many, many thanks to [](http://thejennabides.livejournal.com/profile)[**thejennabides**](http://thejennabides.livejournal.com/) for beta and muse work. Title is from the song "A Little Less Conversation", by Elvis Presley.

  
  
  
  
**Entry tags:**   
|   
[danny](http://postwarmiracles.livejournal.com/tag/danny), [danny/rusty](http://postwarmiracles.livejournal.com/tag/danny%2Frusty), [fic](http://postwarmiracles.livejournal.com/tag/fic), [nc-17](http://postwarmiracles.livejournal.com/tag/nc-17), [rusty](http://postwarmiracles.livejournal.com/tag/rusty), [springkink](http://postwarmiracles.livejournal.com/tag/springkink)  
  
---|---  
  
_  
**(fic) (o11) A Little More Bite, A Little Less Bark (Danny/Rusty, NC-17)**   
_   
written for [](http://community.livejournal.com/springkink/profile)[**springkink**](http://community.livejournal.com/springkink/).  
 **warnings:** language and sexual situations  
 **prompt:** "Danny perving on the tattoo - 'All this aggravation ain't satisfactionin' me'"  
 **notes:** with many, many thanks to [](http://thejennabides.livejournal.com/profile)[**thejennabides**](http://thejennabides.livejournal.com/) for beta and muse work. Title is from the song "A Little Less Conversation", by Elvis Presley.

It was the first time Danny had _noticed_ the tattoo. He'd known it was there, of course - filed it in the Rusty' section of his brain along with the intentionally ugly suit/shirt combinations and the vaguely Freudian oral fixation - but knowing it was there wasn't quite the same as _noticing_ it, and now that Danny had noticed the tattoo, he was far too distracted to _notice_ much of anything else.

They were killing time at a blackjack table at the Sands. Reuben was busy losing at craps and Saul was chatting up the ladies in the keno lounge, and there was a job coming up day after tomorrow, and they were in the time-killing stage of the operation, so that was what Danny and Rusty were doing. Playing blackjack and drinking, and not thinking about the thousand or so ways the job could go south on them in the next 36 hours. At least, that was what Danny was doing. Danny never could tell whether Rusty was not-thinking about something when he was killing time.

So Rusty took a swig of his beer, set the bottle down on the cardboard coaster that the cocktail waitress had left, and then he tapped his cards - _hit me_. The dealer slapped down the four of clubs, but Danny couldn't be sure it wasn't spades, because he was busy watching the cuff of Rusty's sleeve slip down and back up in little tattoo-flashes, teasing like Gypsy Rose Lee.

The dealer offered Danny a card, and he had to think for a second before he shook his head - _no, thanks._ He glanced back at Rusty - meant to get another peek at the tattoo, but got distracted by the way Rusty was looking at him. The what are you, stupid?' way.

Danny looked at his cards and realized he'd just stood on fourteen.

He pressed his lips together and glanced away as the dealer flipped her cards - eight, two, ace - twenty-one. She took both of their chips and started shuffling again as they placed new bets. Danny turned back to the game and caught Rusty still giving him that look, and then shaking his head.

Danny pushed a fifty-dollar chip forward and took his cards. He gave them a glance and then got all caught up in the way the ink curved and curled along Rusty's skin - the lines and the shapes; the color of the not-quite-black tattoo ink against Rusty's three-weeks-in-Vegas-tanned skin. It was damn near indecent, the way that pattern caressed the back of Rusty's hand, and Danny only half-heard when the dealer asked him if he wanted another card. He might have nodded yes, he might have waved her off - but watching Rusty's tattoo meant that he didn't really care, either way.

"Nineteen," the dealer said. She scooped up their chips and Danny looked down at his cards. Ten, seven, and eight.

"What's the matter with you?" Rusty asked. The dealer's hands - red-manicured nails, but still short enough to work with - swept up their cards and shuffled them back into the deck.

"Nothing," Danny replied.

"What're you doing?"

"Nothing!"

"You hit on eighteen and stood on fourteen."

"Yeah," Danny shrugged. He picked up his glass - Southern Comfort, on the rocks - and took a sip. The ice bumped against his lip as he drank.

"So what the hell are you doing?"

Danny shrugged again. He put his glass back down and gave the charming smile a try.

Rusty made with a quick, tiny nod and lifted his thumb to his lip; made two quick strokes with his thumb tip at the edge of his mouth. Danny knew what he meant - "you got something, right there" - but the tattoo was teasing-flashing him and all Danny could think about was the tip of his cock parting Rusty's lips.

Slow-motion-slow, Danny mimicked Rusty's movement and wiped the ice-water droplet away. Almost as slow, Rusty lifted an eyebrow and started to grin. "Ah," Rusty said. He stood up, swiped a twenty-dollar chip out of Danny's stack and flipped it to the dealer. Then he picked up his beer, pocketed the rest of his chips, and started walking.

It only took Danny a few steps to catch up, but he didn't ask until they were in the elevator, doors closing. "Where are we going?"

"Liquor store," Rusty said, still grinning.

"We could just go to the bar," Danny said. "Here in the hotel."

Rusty reached up and dragged his thumb across his bottom lip, and when Danny's eyes widened just that much, Rusty's grin grew.

"Orwe could go to the liquor store," Danny said.

"We could go to the liquor store," Rusty nodded.

That blast of air - the desert-hot that hits you when you walk out of an air-conditioned casino - Danny never quite got used to that sensation. And he kind of got off on it. It was like stepping out of a job and back into himself; like a vacation in a footstep. And as they went from cold to hot, Rusty put on his sunglasses and didn't look at Danny once, but he always had that little grin and Danny was starting to squirm inside from it.

"Why are we going to the liquor store, anyway?" Danny asked.

Rusty drained his beer bottle of the dregs and tossed the empty into the nearest trashcan. "I'm thirsty," he replied.

"Okay," said Danny.

"So what set you off this time?" Rusty asked.

"Nothing," Danny said. Rusty didn't say anything back, and after a long moment Danny sighed. "The tattoo, alright? The tattoo set me off."

Rusty nodded. "You just now noticed it was there?"

"No. Well, kind of."

Rusty nodded again. The automatic door to the nearest 7-11 opened and spat out cold air, right in their faces. Rusty took off his sunglasses and slipped them into his pocket.

A few moments later and they were standing in front of the liquor shelves, contemplation-staring. Danny had his arms crossed over his chest and Rusty had his hands in his pockets. Sitting there on the shelf were two boxes of red-wine-in-a-box and at least a dozen six-packs of Zima. And nothing else. Nothing else at all.

"Hm." Rusty said.

"What the hell is this?" Danny said.

"Shriners are in town," called the guy behind the register. "They're like locusts, those guys. Sucked up all the booze I had and then moved on to the next guy."

Rusty and Danny both nodded. "Terrible," Rusty said sympathetically.

"Fuckin' Shriners," said the guy behind the counter.

Danny frowned and Rusty shrugged. "Well," said Rusty, "There's the Zima."

Danny glared at him. Then he picked up the wine-in-a-boxes, one under each arm and headed towards the cashier.

Somewhere along the walk back to the Sands, Rusty took one of the wine boxes and carried it the rest of the way. When they got in the elevator, Rusty said, "The tattoo, huh?"

Danny looked up at the floor numbers over the door - 3, 4, 5, 6. "Yeah."

"Last time it was the sunglasses. The time before that - something to do with a corn dog, I think."

Danny glanced down and pressed his lips together tightly, smiling but not-smiling. "Yeah."

The elevator door dinged and opened. "Pervert," Rusty said as he stepped out, grinning over his shoulder.

Danny went ahead and grinned back. "Yeah."

When they got to Rusty's room, Danny put the wine boxes on the night stand, took off his coat and sat on the edge of the bed. Rusty brought the plastic-wrapped/sterilized-for-your-protection glasses from the bathroom, unbuttoning his shirt one-handed. He tossed Danny one glass and ripped the plastic off the other, and - standing over Danny, looking down at him, making Danny look up at him - Rusty filled his glass and downed it in one go.

"You're supposed to sip wine," Danny said.

"You're supposed to sip good wine," Rusty replied. He set the glass down and unbuttoned his cuffs, turning them up one at a time. "I don't think the same rules apply to wine-in-a-box."

"True," Danny nodded. He swallowed - his wine, the lump in his throat - as Rusty slowly exposed the entire tattoo. "Tease," Danny murmured.

Rusty said nothing - just wagged his eyebrows a couple of times and straddled Danny's lap, pushing him back against the headboard. He took Danny's glass out of Danny's hand and took a sip, and then leaned forward and kissed him. Danny's wine was still in Rusty's mouth, and when Rusty coaxed Danny's mouth open with his own, the wine spilled onto Danny's tongue, dribbled down his chin. Rusty pulled back and dragged his thumb along the wine-drop; scooped the wine up and pushed his thumb into Danny's mouth, and when he tasted Rusty's skin Danny closed his eyes.

Rusty's thumb made a soft popping noise - more a feeling than a sound - when he pulled it free. He turned Danny's glass over his open hand and poured what was left of the wine into his palm, cupping it to Danny's mouth and making him drink. Danny swallowed and swallowed, and when the wine didn't flow anymore he grasped Rusty's wrist and held his hand still, lapping up the rest from Rusty's skin. Danny's tongue slid along Rusty's palm and his fingers; over the back of his hand to trace the lines and curves of nerves and ink. He tasted along Rusty's wrist and forearm - the hairs on Rusty's arm tickled at the sides of Danny's mouth - and when Danny started using his teeth too, he heard Rusty's fly unzip. Danny moved his free hand down, fingertip-brushing the head of Rusty's cock, and Rusty pushed his hand down further, onto the shaft. Rusty squeezed Danny's hand until Danny squeezed Rusty's cock, and then he reached for the zipper of Danny's trousers and undid those, too.

Danny's hand was on Rusty and now Rusty's hand was on Danny, and Rusty made this little fuck-me roll with his hips and Danny groaned out loud through half-clenched teeth. Rusty was pushing his thumb back into Danny's mouth and opening his other hand up wider to make their cocks rub together, and it wasn't long before Danny was twitching, whisper-begging to come.

When Rusty let him, he moved so Danny's come would hit him on the stomach, between the open ends of his unbuttoned shirt. Danny kept stroking - his spent dick against Rusty's boner - until Rusty came, too, come covering Danny's, on his belly. Danny pushed Rusty back onto his elbows and licked him clean, tasting skin, tasting sweat, tasting come and the thin film of desert grit that coated everyone in Vegas. Yeah, Rusty tasted like Vegas.

When Danny was done, Rusty grabbed him by the hair and jerked his head up. "Better now?"

"Yeah," Danny said. And this time when he tried the charming smile, Rusty charming-smiled back.

"Good," Rusty said. He let go of Danny's hair and shoved his shoulder. "Get up off of me then - we got work to do."  



End file.
